Tenacious in Haida Gwaii

Skidegate Village, Haida Gwaii, July 30, 2013



Patrick & Lydia at Haida Museum

This morning we catch a ride in to the Haida Museum and Cultural Center with new friends, Carla and Colin. All visitors to Gwaii Haanas National Park and Haida Heritage Site are required to attend an orientation session and purchase park passes before entering, so we arrive early and explore the carving shed with its hand-shaped Haida canoes, and the grounds of the compound with the carved poles that represent each of the major Haida villages. The art of carving is strong and alive here.
 

The orientation session only takes about an hour. We collect our park permits and enter the museum with its well-presented displays about Haida history and culture, and the flora, fauna and natural history of these islands. I enjoy seeing the collection of artifacts from the old village sites!

Herring roe on kelp

We decide to enjoy lunch in the museum café and are very glad of it--we have seafood chowder, home-made by a local Haida woman. It is delicious and peppery, full of salmon, halibut, clams and chunks of a local delicacy: herring roe on kelp. When the herring spawn in the spring they lay their tiny eggs in the billions on the long, wide bands of kelp leaves. The Haida carefully collect these leaves, cut them into large chunks, then dry them. It has a delicious light flavor and is surprisingly crunchy. Mmmmm! A real treat! If we come back, we hope to try the octopus balls (made of ground octopus.) We hear they are quite delicious, too!

Graham Island, Haida Gwaii, July 29, 2013

A bald visitor on our spreader

Fortuitously, we meet wonderful fellow boaters on the dock at Queen Charlotte, and accept their invitation to share a car for a drive to the north end of Graham Island. Our first destination is the site where a rare golden-needled Sitka Spruce tree was cut down by an eco-terrorist in 1997. It is a tree that was revered for centuries by the Haida, and beloved of many visitors. The route takes us off the 2-lane highway and on to a gravel logging road. A short hike into the bush takes us to the site where the tree still lies on the forest floor. Because it's golden needles are the result of a genetic anomaly, it can only reproduce through cuttings. Some were taken after the tree was felled, and are growing in protected places. A local fellow we meet at the site tells us that there is another large, mature golden spruce here in the islands, but it's location is being kept secret...

We continue down the logging road until we reach the trailhead that leads to an ancient Haida canoe that is still deep in the forest. It lies at the foot of the huge cedar stump from which it was cut. Its final shape is just beginning to emerge from the log--the bow lifts up several feet higher than the gunwales, and narrows to form a thick, sturdy prow that could brave the highest seas. The stern echoes the same shape. The inside of the log has just begun to be hollowed out.
History tells us the Haida ranged all over these islands and carefully chose a cedar to test for worthiness to become a canoe. First, a test hole was cut and burned into the base of the tree to test for rot in the heart. Despite the aromatic oil that help to prevent rot even in this moist environment, cedars tend to decay from the inside out. If the tree's heart is solid, it is felled with tools and fire. In order to lighten the canoe, which would have to be hauled out of the woods to the nearest water to be floated back to the village for finishing, the canoe would be roughly shaped just where it fell. We will never know why this one was left behind in the woods...

We continue north to Masset and Old Masset village. Because logging and fishing industries are struggling here, there is little left in the towns but a few pubs, restaurants and snack bars. We see some totem poles scattered through Old Masset, and move on to find a surprisingly good late lunch at Pearl's Chinese Restaurant. Hunger is the best sauce, and after all of our hiking, we are hungry!

Hunting for treasures, Agate Beach, Tow Hill behind

Our next stop is at Agate Beach on the north coast. We face out to sea; the next landfall is Alaska! This beach is famous for its wave-washed white and honey-colored agates. I collect all that I can carry, and all that I can convince Patrick to carry. I'll have to sort through them and choose the prettiest later. Ahead of us, toward Rose Spit, Tow Hill rises from the shoreline, driving today's airborne moisture up over its peak and causing a cloud cap to form. What a stunning day.

Queen Charlotte City, Haida Gwaii, July 27, 2013

We have crossed Hecate Strait!  This is a first for us; we have never been to Haida Gwaii, formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands, about 60+ miles off the north coast of British Columbia. The combination of timing (for the best chance at good sea conditions in the Strait) and the intestinal fortitude to attack the crossing of some of the most feared waters on earth has kept us away until this, our thirteenth year cruising the Pacific Northwest coast. Hecate Strait is a large and relatively shallow body of water that is directly in the path of storms that form in the Gulf of Alaska and sweep down to the mainland and east. Because it is so shallow, waves form quickly and are easily influenced by the conflicting winds that tend to intersect here. This level of unpredictability has kept us (and many boaters) from even considering a crossing in the past. This year we decide that our experience, combined with prudent planning and enough time to wait for fair winds and low wave height reports from the relevant ocean buoys, will allow us to make a safe crossing.



Kitties relax at anchor in Keswar, in the 'cat bird seat'

 

And safe it is! Beginning from Keswar Inlet at 6:00am, we experience every kind of weather from cold, damp fog to brilliant sunshine, and nothing worse than 2-foot wind waves over a low, westerly swell from the Pacific. The kitty boys never bat an eyelash. We navigate to the mouth of Skidegate Inlet, which runs between Graham Island, which makes up most of the northern half of Haida Gwaii, and Moresby Island where the southern half begins. As we approach the shallow sand bar out in front of the entrance to the inlet,  the ebbing tide is running against the prevailing winds, kicking up pyramid-shaped waves that crash into our bow and spray our windows with salt water. We are soon past the fracas, and drop anchor in mid-afternoon. Our anchor finds thick, strong-holding mud just off the Skidegate village reservation and despite 15-20 knot winds through the bay, we find a peaceful night, swinging and rocking gently in this fabled and mystical land.

 

In the next few day we plan to explore Queen Charlotte City (including the Haida Museum and Cultural Center), pick up some fresh produce and a few staples, then go on to Gwaii Haanas, the Haida's "Islands of Beauty" with their ancient village sites, totem poles, hot springs, wildlife and largely untouched wilderness.

 

Swanson Bay, July 14, 2013

For the past several years we have sailed past Swanson Bay on our way to Gardner Canal. We would see its weathered old red-brick chimney that peeks over the tops of the trees, and wondered what might be left of the old pulp and sawmill that was here almost a hundred years ago. Today, we are here, anchored off the mouth of a creek whose outflow is keeping Tenacious from swinging in too close to shore. There are several promising-looking beaches along the bay front, but I ask Patrick to drop me off near the remains of the largest section of barnacle-covered wharf. In the clear water beneath the dinghy we see thousands and thousands of bricks, some stamped with the names of their manufacturer, others draped with colorful starfish. There must have been a large structure built out over the water on these pilings.

I sit perched on the bow of our inflatable dinghy, gumboot-shod feet stretched out in the water ahead of us so as to feel the bottom, so I know when I can jump off. The trick is to gauge when it’s shallow enough that I don’t flood my boots, and deep enough that we don’t abrade the bottom of the inflatable on rocks and barnacles. Patrick poles out to deeper water using one of the paddles, hunting for Dungeness crab to scoop up in the fishing net; I wade in to shore.

Among the scarred and rotting pilings I find huge chunks of rusted machinery, what looks like pieces of track from some kind of conveyor belt, broken bottles and shards of many-patterned pottery and china. Farther up the beach, above the high-tide line, I find evidence of old buried steam pipes, uncovered by storm-driven waves. I’m imagining they would have carried steam from the giant boilers that ran the mill out to heat the living quarters of the workers, farther down the shoreline.

I begin bashing through the dense tangle of salal, huckleberry and fallen timber, looking for the old chimney. From the water, I have a general idea where it is. Once in the dense moist dimness of the woods, it’s harder to know just where I am. For a few dozen yards I am on a narrow trail and I think other visitors must have tried this route. It peters out near the creek bed that runs alongside the mill site. Either I’m going in the wrong direction, or I will have to continue deeper in through the thicket without the benefit of the trail. I can see white water over huge boulders upstream, and hear the rushing water. The tide is rising and the salt water is heading up the creek to meet the fresh, as the fresh rushes down to meet the bay. I am reminded of bears that fish the creek beds in rapids like these. Then I decide maybe I don’t need to see the chimney up close. I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn back out to the comforting openness of the intertidal beach. Sometimes you just have to listen to your inner voice.
 
Walking along the tideline, I see another opening in the woods. I climb over two huge downed trees and under another before I look up to see a multi-story concrete building with huge door-like openings in the walls up its sides. The brush has grown in close around the foundations of the structure but there is a mossy pathway around its base, so I clamber in to see what is left inside. I use a convenient log that has fallen, slanted to make a slippery, moss-covered bridge into one of the openings, and climb up to look. In the spooky darkness I can make out huge drum-like cylinders with sagging piping connecting them to other hunks of decaying machinery. I am guessing these were boilers that provided steam to power the mills. It is cold and damp when I crane my head to look up to see patches of blue sky through the collapsing roof. Looking down I can see that the floor is collapsing, too. I won't be going in any farther!

It feels good to get back out into the sunshine once again. Soon we will pick up the anchor and continue north.